


Per Aspera Ad Astra

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Ableism, Aftermath of main quest, Brainwashing, But it isnt au its the 'canon' for my sole, Drugs for medical purposes, Evil Science, Fantasy AU, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Found Family, Gore, Happy Ending?, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Inaccurate representation of insanity, It does get better but early on it will be the worst, M/M, Mental Illness, Mind Control, Murder, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Personal 'rules' for werewolves, Restoration of the Commonwealth, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Soft Cannablism, Suicide Attempts, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Therapy, Violence, Werewolf AU, different POVs, mute character, supportive friends, two dads and a ten year old baby, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:25:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Edit)This work has been orphaned. I couldn't agree with some of the things I did, such as using mental illness as a trope or plot tool, or using mental illness some sort of representation of supernatural happening, etc. Basically, I was wildly in the wrong and I don't want to keep doing something that I now know is wrong. I'm leaving it up, but I'm not updated. Jess is being rewritten, without the mental illness demonization.





	1. First Meetings: Codsworth, Preston

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things

When Codsworth first meets him, he's in a straight-jacket, shock collar, and steel chains held tightly by armed guards who flinch with every small twitch.

Mum paced frantically in the kitchen undoing and redoing her blonde bun countless times.

"Mum?" He asked apprehensively; she didn't reply. Mum was a stoic and unwavering woman, one who never showed fear or timidness. He didn't know much about the patient, only that he had to be restrained around Mum. The three, fresh scars down the left of her face were testaments to that danger. He knew that Mum had done things to the man that were unethical if the phone calls she had with the man's previous doctor had any truth.

_ "He was supposed to be let out over 20 years ago," came the quiet static over the phone. _

_ "The studies we undertake help save lives. Its blood is immune to disease and radiation - every vial and elixir sent to our troops protects America." _

Mum returned from her work (she would never answer any questions; he never really knew what she did) one day, shaking and covered in bandages. Whatever she did, the man hated her for it. From what Codsworth gathered, he escaped his bonds and attacked her, and she survived by the skin of her teeth. 

Codsworth feared that the man attacked her in more ways than one when Mum had given birth to his son. Mum assured him that, no, she wasn't _raped_ , she had his child as part of her studies. It showed, too - she had no love for little Shaun, only interacted with him to take notes and statistics.

When the man arrived at their quaint little home, Codsworth nearly deactivated himself in anxiety. 

What reason was there for the man to be so restricted, so chained and _controlled_? Mum had to leave the house while he was there, one of her assistants was taking her place and opening the straight jacket.

To Codsworth's horror, the man was there to meet Shaun. To say that the robot resisted would be an understatement. The armed soldiers assured him that the man could not cause any harm to the baby. If he even twitched wrong, the shock collar would go off. 

Inside Shaun's room, as the man was shoved to sit on the floor and the 1-year-old was taken from his crib and handed to the man who had to be covered head-to-toe in shock collars and _chains, and scars from God knows what,_ Codsworth felt fear on a human level.

The man stared blankly at the small bundle in his broad arms, eyes observing but never really processing. Shaun babbled and stared back, so unafraid. He climbed up his terrifying father's chest, grabbing at his crooked and scarred nose, smiling and giggling.

The man's eyes focused. And he _smiled_.

It was a slow, awkward, almost unnatural thing on his face, sitting so brightly amongst scars and faded tattoos. He watched his baby as Shaun seemed to recognize his dad without ever meeting him. His grin went from ear to ear, a mouth of sharp and gnarled teeth. 

In the space of a few seconds, the man went from horrifying to human. His eyes were bright and aware, his face expressive and just as curious as the little boy in his arms.

Codsworth's motor fired up when the man moved his head and his jagged teeth towards Shaun. Then, the man only nuzzled instead of biting, nosing at the child's cheeks and forehead with the gentleness of a man who shouldn't have been in chains. 

He hummed and made soft, gentle noises in his throat as he played with his son, sweetly peppering kisses into the thick, wavy red hair Shaun got from his father. Shaun chirped and giggled and curled up in his father's arms.

The soldiers whispered to each other, some confused, some in awe, some sympathetic of the man on the floor covered in chains while he played with his baby. 

The guards stepped outside to speak with Mum's assistant, leaving only the robot to watch the man and his son. 

"Well, I'm certainly glad you two get along so well, sir! A young boy needs a father, after all." Codsworth said in his usual cheery tone, attempting conversation with a man who couldn't speak. The man looked at him, and the way he looked at the metal robot was different from how he looked at the child in his lap or the soldiers who dragged him around by steel leashed. No love and affection, but not afraid or wary. He was listening, aware that the Mister Handy spoke to him, unable to reply but able to engage. 

"If I must say, little Shaun is quite the handful - metaphorically, of course, I don't have hands - it is rather surprising how well-behaved he is being for you, mister...?" He didn't expect the man to give a name, but it was another attempt at treating him like a person and not an animal. Much to Codsworth's surprise, the man stopped playing with Shaun, and shakily, clumsily, attempted to sign his name. He didn't have the hand correlation to make the letters correctly, but Codsworth picks up 'Jesse.'

~~~~~~~~   
  


When Preston meets him in the museum, where the lights show what dusk hid in shadow, he almost shoots him, thinking the rescuer is another raider.

On the way to Concord, Preston and his group heard a roar from the north-east. It's was as loud as a nuke, echoing to every corner of the 'Wealth, and it went on for ages. Whatever it was, it was angry. It wasn't a Deathclaw - not reptilian enough. Like a really ticked off dog. 

It reminded Preston of Marcy's scream when Kyle...

He heard raiders screaming down below. Flesh ripping, bones cracking, trailing throughout the museum and stopping just outside the door. Preston didn't want to open the door, but he did. And fired a round at the man standing just outside of it. 

"Why, I _say_!" A tinny voice huffed from behind the man. "Shooting your rescuer is rather impolite, you know!" An indignant Mister Handy's eye peeked out from above the man's shoulder. 

It was then that Preston realized - he just shot at the guy he asked for help. _"Sh*t!"_ He recoiled. "God, sorry, man. Thought you were one of...them..." Preston trailed off, the dimly lit room showing and concealing all the wrong things. The blood staining the man's arms up to his elbows glittered sickly, dripping down his claw-like knotty fingers onto the floor. His hollow, bony face exaggerated the sharp jaw, cheekbones, and those piercing, sunk-in eyes that didn't blink, scars that seemed to move on his skin like waves amongst faded cultic tattoos. The grey jumpsuit sealed the deal on the 'campground murderer' package. 

Marcy and Jun huddled together, staring at the horror of a man. Sturges didn't seem to notice, worrying at his sore knee after Preston fired and scared the hell out of him, causing the mechanic to jump and slam it into the desk. Mama Murphy didn't care, either. 

Preston cleared his throat. "Anyway, sorry, just a little jumpy. Thanks for the help, though. Glad to see someone willing to lend a hand around here, for once."

"Oh, it was no trouble, sir! It's good to see civilized, well-mannered folk for a change." The robot chirped, speaking for the man. "Oh, forgive us, we didn't introduce ourselves - I am Codsworth, and this is Mr. Jesse. And yourself?"

"Nice to meet you. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minuteman - the big guy at the terminal is Sturges, Mama Murphy's over there on the couch, and the other two are the Longs, Jun and Marcy. We could still use more help if you aren't too upset after I shot at you. "

"But of course! We'd be happy to assist, Mr. Garvey," Codsworth said. The serial-killer-esque guy, Jesse, just stood there, tilting his head and seemingly sizing up Preston. "But if I may trouble you with some questions; have you seen anyone with an infant recently? About 1-year-old, red hair? Mr. Jesse is looking for him, the poor thing was stolen out of his mother's arms."

Preston's winced. Kidnapping in the 'Wealth was common - it just wasn't usually kids. Any parent worth their salt would kill or be killed before anyone took their child. "Uh, no, sorry, haven't seen any baby. We'll keep an eye out if we get out of this." 

"Oh, well," Codsworth sighed, "I'm sure we'll find him. Now, what is it you and your group need, Mr. Garvey?" 

\-----------

The survivors of Quincy trudged through the chaos of torn limbs and bullet casing left by their new and strange ally. 

It didn't take long to reach Sanctuary. Preston checked once, twice, three times that everyone was settled and safe before flipping a couch up-right and passing out for the night. Sleep had been a luxury he couldn't afford.

Speaking of luxuries, when he woke up the next morning, he pinched himself hard enough to bruise. 

The dilapidated houses lining the streets looked nice. Almost prewar, frozen in time like nothing had touched them, such a far cry from the open walls and rust. A large garden down by the river glowed softly, illuminated by the rising sun. A radio beacon, water purifiers, power lines to every building.

What the utter _f***?_

He jumped off the couch, slipping on the ratty rug on his way out the door. 

Outside, he pinched himself again - he was _not_ complaining, it was just...how? And when? A flash of blue cover-alls in a house down the street caught his attention, and the Minutemen rushed down the swept pavement. 

He body-slammed the door open, frantically looking for someone to explain the sudden changes. "Sturges? Sturges, you in here?" He called into the empty room, cleaned of litter and debris. The mechanic poked his head out from a room down the hallway. 

"Morning, Garvey! Sleep well?" He beamed, seemingly oblivious to the new developments.

" _Did I sleep-_ how long was I out? This doesn't even look like the same place!" Preston gestured to the proper wall where there was a giant gap the night before. "This house looked like a Deathclaw charged through it, and now there's a wall that's an _actual wall_ and not _sticks tied together!_ Have you slept? Did you spend all night working?!"

Sturges chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets and leaning on his heels. "Yeah, looks great, right? Almost like that Covenant place down east. I woke up about...three hours ago, maybe? That guy from Concord was working on generators and getting us some clean water. But he spent most of the night fixing up the place."

"What time is it?"

"9 a.m."

"You're _f***ing_ with me."

Sturges laughed, slinging his arm over Preston's shoulders and taking him outside. "I don't know how he did it, or where he got the resources, but this place looks great. We've got some walls and fences near the bridge, different kinds of crops growing, even have a radio beacon near that big tree up the street."

"And that guy, Jesse, did all of this in a few hours?"

"I don't think the _robot_ did it."

"Where is he now?"

"I think he's working on turrets down by the lake."

Preston shouted a 'Later, Sturges!' over his shoulder as he ran to find Jesse.

-

Sure enough, the guy was calibrating a shiny turret. He was covered in oil, paint, blood from the night before, mud, and a plethora of substances Preston didn't even want to know about. 

"Hey, Jesse!" 

The speed at which he snapped his head towards Preston scared the living Jesus out of the Minutemen. Jesse didn't seem startled, though. Preston guessed he was just really jittery. 

He was staring, but it wasn't in the way he did at the museum, his eyes weren't screaming 'I will eat your kidney.' He seemed almost _normal_. 

Preston pulled the brakes on his train of thought. His mama did _not_ raise him to think of people that way. Jesse had a few issues - issues were completely normal. That didn't mean he was dangerous or any less of a person. Hell, Preston had met 'normal' people who were messed up in ways he didn't think possible; Jesse being quiet and little too comfortable with gore was nothing to worry about. 

The man in question tilted his head and frowning, noticing Preston's odd pause. The Minuteman cleared his throat. "You did all of this," He gestured to the abandoned town behind him. "in just one night?" Jesse half-shrugged. "God, we're keeping you. Y'know..." He pondered for a moment, considering the crouching man. "I know you've done more than enough, but I have another favor to ask..."


	2. First meeting: Danse

When Danse meets him, all he sees is a silhouette in the alleyway, concealed behind muzzle-flash as the ghouls drop one by one.

Scribe Haylen dragged Rhys away from the walls where ghouls poured in like a flood, ducking beneath Danse's cover fire. A ghoul slammed into his power armor, not producing any damage, but distracting him for that fleeting second for another ghoul to lunge towards the defenseless scribe and wounded knight. Time slowed as he watched the atrocity pounce, rotted teeth and claws unhesitant to tear into the last of his team.

A shrill ' _BANG_!' reverberated from the alleyway behind, and the feral merely fell dead on top of the two soldiers. "Haylen, get Rhys inside! Move it!" He barked over the roar of the horde and bullet-rain. A pack of ferals was one danger - an unidentified civilian with a rifle and good aim was another. Each feral's head burst apart one by one. It didn't matter - another howl of a hunting pack resounded from the city, promising to find and _feast_.

The abominations never seemed to thin out, two storming through the gates for every one killed. Danse squeezed the trigger down, not risking to let up the volley of lasers. A second round of lasers appeared from that same alleyway, followed by a man in a beige coat and pinned-up hat. "Civilian on the perimeter, watch your fire!" He directed over his shoulder. The third pack fell, but a fourth one thundered on the pavement outside the walls. Danse took the few seconds to regard the civilian with the musket, who tipped his hat and nodded, and established that he wasn't a raider. The first civilian skulked in the dark alleyway.

A more ferocious pack than the last attacked the fortification, not one lingering, only advancing with animalistic fierceness. Bullet after bullet, laser after laser, _feral after feral_ \- it went on for what felt like ages. The civilian unquestionably had some formal instruction on combat, the skill apparent enough for Danse to recognize it through the chaos. The fourth hunting pack fell faster than the previous attacks, another two guns adding more much-needed firepower. The man in the alley picked off stragglers late to the fight, allowing the other civilian and the paladin to reload and take a moment of clarity. Honestly, Danse didn't know whether his squad would have made it out of the waves alive if not for the civilians' assistance. _He_ would have due to power armor, but Rhys and Haylen...?

He brushed off viscera and gore, dreading the time it would take to clean his armor thoroughly. For some reason, ferals were like cats; anything shiny was priority number 1. There were a few that had gone after his squad and the civilian on the perimeter, but the majority of the beasts had charged at him, only to bounce off the steel bodice over and over again. Combat was mildly infuriating when you had hordes of rotting corpses crowding around you with the firm belief that, yes, they _could_ break through _solid steel_ with _teeth_.

The civilian with the musket had offered Haylen some Stimpaks for Rhys, a charitable act that lessened any suspicion or distrust Danse hand. The paladin examined the carnage covering the area, lightly gagging at piles of limbs and irradiated entrails littering the concrete. The man in the shadows caught his attention through his peripherals. Through the darkness, swirling patterns and intrusive eyes stood out against pale skin. Those _eyes_ \- the paladin knew they were studying him, the feeling of being stared down to his soul filling him with dread of looking directly at the hiding man.

"Hey, you okay?" Danse nearly jumped out of his power armor, almost back-handing the civilian, who miraculously ducked in time to avoid a steel fist taking his head off the shoulders. The other man jumped back, putting his hands out in front of him. Danse cleared his throat, intentions to pretend that, _no_ , a civilian could _not_ scare him worse than four packs of ferals.

"The assistance is appreciated, civilian, but I have to ask you concerning your business here."

"Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minuteman," He tipped his hat. "We just heard a _lot_ more gunfire than usual, came to check it out." It was a simplistic explanation but had enough solidity that Danse didn't feel the need push further. The sudden feeling of another presence ran down his spine. From the front steps, Rhys and Haylen started whispering to each other, the former's grip tight on his weapon and the latter wide-eyed and alert. Clinking and the sound of rotted flesh grating against concrete led him to believe the strange man was looting through the mess. That was fine; he was worried about what the hell it was that spooked Rhys and Haylen. The knight's rifle followed the sounds of scavenging behind him, Haylen barely paying attention to Rhys' wounds, eyes following her brother-in-arms' glower.

"Understandable. The Minutemen were a militia, I believe - you're a local, I take it?" Traders passing by had mentioned the disgraced army and the destruction of that settlement down south - a survivor or remaining soldier was plausible, and Garvey seemed trustworthy enough, but he couldn't allow any surprises.

"Yessir, we're from Sanctuary, up north," Garvey said bemusedly, "Are you waiting for someone, or are you always this interrogating?"

"We question every civilian we come in contact with, yes. Apologies if I appear suspicious, but we've been under fire since arriving." Danse said stiffly, keenly aware of the stench of blood, rust, and ash moving about the compound and the stare of his team following it. There wasn't a shuffle of boots against the pavement, no clanking or creaking of armor - utter silence. There was something about knowing of a presence behind you, and only having the wary gazes of your squad to figure out where it was. "Since you seem to be the helpful type, we could use a fourth or fifth gun at the moment."

At the request for further assistance, Rhys' stare snapped away from the sounds of rummaging to him. His eyes were wide yet brow furrowed, the epitome of bewilderment set firmly on his face. _'What the f*** are you doing?'_ The knight mouthed. Scribe Haylen uncharacteristically didn't gently smack or scold him for the breach of respect. She seemed just as against the idea, glancing back and forth from the civilian behind him and her superior as if she didn't think he was serious.

That couldn't have been a good sign.

Garvey seemed oblivious to the silent yet obtrusive discomfort of the three Brotherhood soldiers. "Sure, we'd be happy to help," He replied, gesturing to the increasingly daunting sight out of Danse's vision. "But we were actually on our way to answer a call from a settlement across the river - they've been having some raider issues. Can we go help them out, and then get back to you, or is this a 'life-or-death' thing?"

"Of course, we can handle ourselves - we're _soldiers_. All we need is a specific piece of technology, and it can wait. Return when you've done what you need to, and I'll fill you in on the details."

Garvey nodded, putting his musket's sling over his shoulders. "All right, we'll see you in about a few hours. Stay safe until then." He waved behind him on the way out the gate, his companion seemingly already gone.

The air thinned, but the thick tension remained. Scribe Haylen had already taken Knight Rhys inside, leaving Danse alone in the mess of corpses, the feeling of something wrong sticking to him like the gore of the battle.

The dim light of the police station, courtesy of candles and electric lanterns, scarcely showed the shadows of his squad to the right of the room. "I am _not_ working with whatever that was." Rhys' gruff voice muttered.

"Do you think the paladin saw him?" Haylen wondered softly, preparing bandages while the knight pulled down his uniform, exposing his wounds to the cold air.

"Did I see who?" The scribe squeaked, throwing the bandage roll into the air. Rhys groaned, sharing the hesitance of the conversation with his superior. Haylen ran after the runaway roll down the hallway, leaving the room to Rhys and Danse. The knight's shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. Danse raised an eyebrow.

"You feel like telling me what all that was about?"

"Not sure what you mean, sir."

"Don't think I didn't catch everything out there and in here - _especially_ that profane little quip. You're lucky I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself."

Rhys looked him in the eye, but not in defiance like usual. "You didn't see the other guy, did you?" He asked, eyes wide.

"No, I didn't get a chance to view him properly," Danse confirmed. "Why? Was he a ghoul?"

Haylen returned from her chase, chiming in. "No, sir. Seemed perfectly human-"

"What humans have _eyes like that_?" Rhys interjected, "Whatever he is, he sure as hell isn't natural. You had to have noticed him, boss. You saw him down the alley, how did you not see those f****** eyes?" The knight stammered, grasping at his increasingly bloody side.

"Haylen, tend to Rhys' wounds; I think he's lost too much blood. We'll discuss this later when we're all _coherent_." The scribe returned to the knight's side, pushing him onto his back and shushing his protests.

~two hours later~

Danse sat at the power armor station, checking every screw and wire diligently. Rhys had fallen asleep about 30 minutes prior, Haylen forcing him to rest and recover. The scribe was in her sleeping bag, reading some pre-war novel left behind in one of the desks. The door to the station opened, the visitor knocking on the wall. "Hello? Anyone still here?" Called the man from before, Garvey.

"One moment!" Danse replied from under the armor frame, jumping up to meet with the Minuteman. "Glad to see you didn't turn-tail and leave us waiting. As much as I hate to admit it, we need all the aid we can-" Danse stopped when he entered the main room and saw what had frightened his soldiers.

He stood hunched over. Red tattoos hidden under piles of scars and destroyed tissue - literal _piles_ , scarred on top of each other, burns stretching across his sunken face and swollen bruises painting his pallid skin like sick artwork. A giant ring of burns and scar tissue went around his neck like a collar. Two bands of mottled skin sat identically on his wrists and above those, scaly, ruined patches of skin covered his arms in a vice. His metal corslet and grey jumpsuit blazoned with smeared handprints and splatters of God knew what. And his _eyes_. Sickly, rotten yellow scleras bloodshot to hell. Irises silver as a ghost, so lucid and intense they almost glowed. They were dead, empty. Those eyes locked onto his own, unblinking and hard to not stare back into, like a sick obsession, something so horrifying you couldn't look away. He was suddenly very aware of that feeling again, the one from earlier when the abnormality first stared him down from the alley and questioned if Rhys' outburst _was_ just a result of blood loss.

He ignored the horror the best he could, but he appeared fascinated with the paladin. Danse cleared his throat. "-all the aid we can get. Specifically, we're looking for a transmitter to radio back to the Capital Wasteland. We know there's one in Arcjet."

Garvey whistled, clicking his tongue. " _D*mn,_ you're far from home. I don't know much about Arcjet, only that there are still robots operating. Shouldn't be a problem for you two, but there might be other people scavenging to look out for."

_'Shouldn't be a problem for you two.'_

"Pardon?"

"Well, people head into labs like Arcjet all the-"

"No, no, I got that, what do you mean 'you two'?"

Garvey shrugged apologetically. "We're having issues with keeping in touch with our settlements, so the Minutemen are looking for a new headquarters. I need to be going down to Pleasure Bay and see if Fort Independence is worth taking back. Jesse can help you find your transmitter."

Danse met 'Jesse's stare. The taller man tilted his head in interest.

\-------

The trip to Arcjet didn't take long. Jesse was silent throughout all of it, the only sounds being Danse relaying the mission and the clanking of his power armor. Aside from a pack of mongrels and a few bloatflies, it was uneventful. Jesse was peculiar. He seemed so disheveled that you'd expect the skill of a regular raider. But he was surprisingly adequate. His aim with his M1 was well-honed and precise. He managed to keep up. If not for the odiously, Danse thought he'd make a decent soldier. It was a big 'if' however - freaks had no place in the Brotherhood. Fortunately, Jesse was behind him, minimizing the chances of observing the man who bordered on abominable.

The facility's parking lot was empty of any sign of life. No bullet casings, blood, footprints - nothing appeared to have been there for quite some time. Danse pulled on the door handle - no soap. Completely rusted shut. He huffed, thinking of where they could find a different entrance. He didn't need to, because Jesse just grabbed the handle and pushed the door aside, no, not open - aside. He- he just _bent_ the _f****** metal._ Just crushed it like a can- okay, _efficient_ , Danse had to give him that, but _good god._

Jesse glanced at him, nodding his head towards the interior, slipping past the ruined door. Danse shook off the confused shock, following behind. Despite how dark the entryway was, he noticed that the other man's arm was discernably broken. Swelling and bent, hanging limp at his side. Danse looked back at the door.

"You should _really_ use a Stimpak."

Jesse grunted, already down a hallway and leaving the paladin in an empty room. "You can't shoot with a broken arm, civilian." He asserted, catching up to the man storming through the lab. The other man grumbled again, still on a beeline through the facility, ostensibly ignoring the paladin chasing after him. He had little tolerance for being ignored and considerably less for people he didn't desire to operate with in the first place.

"Are you even listening to me? If we intend on this mission being successful, you need to work with-" Danse nearly ran Jesse over as the man stopped in his tracks in a doorway. Danse growled in exasperation. "Are you trying to test my patience, or are you just naturally _difficul_ -" Jesse turned around sharply, holding his bony finger to his lips, shushing the increasingly irate paladin. He leaned to the side, pointing towards the room.

Piles of robot wreckage scattered across the floor, the foul, coppery scent of oil and burnt wiring swirling together in a repulsive haze that made Danse's eyes sting and water.

Jesse didn't appear to mind, quickly turning the safety off on his rifle and wading through the carnage, pressing up beside the door out, defending the room against whatever was waiting ahead. Danse took the moment of relative protection to survey the mess. No bullet casings, no blood, and burnt remains. "Looks like synths got here first. D*mn it." He exhaled sharply, kicking aside metal scraps as he continued through the ruins, Jesse taking up the involuntary rearguard instead.

Wait, when did Jesse's arm...?

Danse shook it off, assuming the man took a Stimpak while he wasn't paying attention.

The dust and filth that coated everything gave the illusion that the facility was empty, but the two stayed on high alert, aware of the other 'scavengers' Garvey had warned them about. Danse treaded through the debris of fallen objects and destroyed ceiling, careful of any traps or mines. Jesse's utter silence didn't bother him - mutism wasn't that uncommon throughout the BoS, usually in the form of a wound or accident, or a traumatized soldier; Danse was in the minority of soldiers who learned ASL, PSE, and SEE to communicate better with them. He wondered if Jesse knew any sign language, but he lacked the desire to attempt any unnecessary interaction with him. He doubted the other man had any cognitive function to sign anything coherent, anyway.

Danse peered into a large, open room, a door's maglocks shut tight. He looked at Jesse in caustic expectance, frowning when he went for a terminal. Don't misunderstand, it was nice to see him act human, but again, cognitive function. There was little chance of Jesse actually being able to understand and operate a terminal.

He stopped, head snapping up towards the locked door. His pupils shrunk, leaving his eyes an empty mass of color, shoulders tense. Danse followed his gaze, grip tightening on his laser rifle. One minute passed - nothing was seen, nothing heard. Just the low hum of the power to the building. He looked over at the agitated man. He didn't know if Jesse had a _reason_ to be alarmed, or if he was just hallucinating.

The man in question was sifting through his military-issue backpack, pulling out a frag mine. 1: Not a great idea to have a _weight-based explosive_ at the bottom of a heavy pack. 2: They were in an empty room, why did he need an explosive. _"What the hell are you doing?"_ Danse whispered, still unsure if whether Jesse was right in the head. His answer became _'no'_ when the man set the mine and placed it right outside the door.

Jesse looked at him and pointed to a corner near the door. Danse followed his eyes, seeing nothing. He looked back the definitively insane man, wondering if he should have just come alone. Jesse scowled, seemingly exasperated, snapping his fingers and pointing more... _pointed_...- _ly_...and looking at the paladin like _he_ was the one being difficult.

Danse realized embarrassingly late that, _no_ , Jesse wasn't pointing at a self-imagined demon in the corner, he was telling the paladin _where to go_. He sheepishly took a position into the corner as directed. Jesse returned to the terminal, keys clicking until the door slid open with a hiss. Danse made a move to breach, but Jesse growled, pointing back at the wall with minimal patience. Bewildered, Danse just...followed orders, even if they were, to be crude, _bullsh*t_. Jesse appeared to simmer down, creeping up the opposite side of the door. He waited for a few seconds, before knocking loudly on the steel wall, running across the room, and sliding back over the terminal table, hiding behind the machinery.

Danse couldn't but stare at the ruffian's lunacy, when footsteps started coming towards them.

"Sensors are indicating concealed organic lifeform." An electronic, tinny, soulless voice echoed from the hallway past the now-open door. Danse's stomach twisted angrily. _Synths_. He flicked the safety off his rifle, preparing to charge into the horde of abominations as synths poured into the room, _right_ into the frag mine Jesse had placed.

Metal, plastic, bits of wiring - the synth remains went _flying_ across the room, ricocheting off the walls and floor for almost a solid 15 seconds.

Danse stood silently in awe and amazement.

Jesse swung his pack back over his shoulders, proceeding through Arcjet and leaving Danse to catch up again.


	3. First Meetings: Piper

When Piper meets him, she doesn't realize he's the general, but when she does, she can't pass up an interview with him. It's there in that small room that she gets the article of a lifetime.

Piper rocked back and forth on her heels, fingers brushing against the cold grip of her pistol in an attempt to comfort herself. D*mn mayor and his lackeys...she put out a paper that hit too close to the truth, huh?! Big strong men scared of little miss reporter, _pfft_. If Danny ever let her in, she was including the Diamond City guard in her next article, mark her words!

Someone cleared their throat behind her. She glanced at them - a regular looking guy and a bigger guy that looked like a mercenary. Perfect.

Piper leaned close to the smaller one, the one in the hat, whispering. "Hey, you wanna get into the city?"

She guessed he just watched the whole argument with Danny, judging by the concern and general look of 'what the hell did I just watch.' "Uh, yeah, we do, but-"

_"Shhh!"_ Piper waved her hands, looking back at the speaker-thing with a grin. "Sorry, say again? Oh, you're traders from Quincy? You have enough supplies to stock the stores for a whole month? _Huh_." She leaned against the gate, smirking. "Hear that, Danny? You gonna let us or do you wanna be the one to calm down Crazy Myrna about losing out on all this supply?!"

Danny groaned, and a moment later, the gates rose, and Mayor MacDonough was waiting just for Piper. Great.

She looked back at her unwilling helpers as they headed in. The bigger guy got her attention. Tall, tense, and armed to the teeth, encased head-to-toe in military armor, and a heavy-duty gas mask covered his face. Piper would think he was a gunner, if not for the Minutemen flag he was using as a scarf.

Wait.

_Wait a second._

She squinted at the smaller guy. Pinned-up hat, laser musket.

_Holy sh*t._

"Wait, hold up!" She yelled after the pair heading into the city, ignoring MacDonough completely. "Hey, you two are Minutemen, right?"

_The_ Preston Garvey tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am, Preston Garvey, and this here's the general, Jesse." He nodded his head to his compatriot.

Piper did a double-take. It wasn't that surprising, he looked intimidating and powerful enough to be a general...but the Minutemen's whole thing was their sociability. This Jesse guy seemed as friendly as a Deathclaw.

"Okay, I know you two are probably busy, but when you have time...stop by my office later. I'd kill for an interview with the _big bad general_ everyone seems to be talking about." She winked, sauntering back towards the fuming mayor waiting to yell at her for not _accepting his lies._

~~~~~~~~

Piper lounged on her ratty couch, flipping through a Grognak when a knock on the door made her freeze. That argument with the mayor didn't end well - they _never_ do - and she had already been kinda evicted that day. She did the math in her head, and she really did not the chances of a Diamond City guard being outside, waiting to give her the news that the Wright sisters were being kicked out, and this time, for _good_. Or worse, the Institute finally decided to pay them a visit - hell, maybe the guards planned on doing it themselves. Paranoia kicked in.

"Nat, head upstairs, now." Piper whispered to her sister, who sat on the floor coloring. She grabbed the pistol and magazine off of the coffee table, loading the firearm.

Nat looked up from the floor, startled. "Why? What's going-"

"Shhh, just head on upstairs." Piper shooed her sister away. She watched Nat scurry up the metal steps, and only then went to answer the door.

She gripped her pistol, waiting for a second to see if she could hear anything that might warn her about her visitors. Nothing.

Piper threw the door open. And promptly emptied her lungs of oxygen as she sighed with relief. It was just the two Minutemen from earlier, not a synth or angry guard.

General Jesse cocked his head, notably looking at the pistol held tightly in her palms. Piper chuckled awkwardly, holstering it and opening the door wider, stepping aside and allowing the two to enter. She called up the stairs to her sister, telling her to go outside and play.

"So, you're letting me get an interview?" She asked, sliding back down on the couch and getting comfy with her pad and pen as she watched the younger girl head out the door.

Preston quickly glanced at Jesse, brow furrowing and slightly wincing. It was subtle, but the eyes of a reporter saw everything. He rubbed at his gloved wrists. "I probably should have mentioned this _earlier_ , but Jesse's mute - can't talk. Or at least, he doesn't." Preston said gently, watching the general quizzically.

Piper blinked. The reporter wondered how Jesse had managed to establish multiple successful settlements and trade lines, steadily build a decent-sized army that increased in strength and power each day and unite a good portion of the Commonwealth in only a few weeks, without being able to speak. She could see the headline - "A silent diplomat - a voiceless voice for the people." How do you bring so many people under one banner like that? It would take someone calculating, who knew how to play their cards, someone with charisma and a helluva lot of moxie and gumption.

Piper squirmed in her seat in anticipation, hundreds of questions zipping around in her head.

"That's fine, all I want is some answers to the questions the 'Wealth's been asking about you guys. Besides, some transparency can only help improve the Minutemen's new image. The public eye likes when it's allowed to see, after all. Just some questions about the army and settlements, and maybe a few things about Mr. General over here." Piper leaned forward, tilting her head at the fidgety man standing awkwardly by the door.

Preston leaned back against the metal cabinet across from her. "I'll do my best to answer any questions you have. Shoot."

Piper sat up straight, scribbling on the notepad to make sure her pen worked. "Okay, first question: What settlements do the Minutemen currently have control over, or have any influence over? Basically, who's willing to fly Minutemen colors?"

Preston looked up at the ceiling, murmuring and counting with his fingers. He paused, then nodded to himself before clearing his throat and standing straighter. "Currently, the Minutemen's headquarters are Sanctuary, where the new Minutemen began, and the Castle, which we took about a week ago." He shifted his weight to his other foot, taking a deep breath.

"We have quite a few settlements. Abernathy farm and Tenpines Bluff are near Sanctuary and are where we have food supply lines to other towns. Oberland station is sort of a rest-stop for any travelers or Minutemen and a buffer between the two sides of the Charles River. Star-light and Sunshine Tidings are just residential. Graygarden is where most of the food comes out. We have a section of Fitchburg we're trying to fix up and secure, but the whole city is overrun with ghouls and an unsettling amount of Deathclaws, and we're looking at the area surrounding the Piscataqua River, mostly the islands for their defensive qualities."

Piper nodded as she wrote everything down, impressed. Fitchburg was notorious for being Deathclaw breeding grounds. No one in the Commonwealth was _that_ stupid - if the Minutemen were ballsy enough to charge into a _nest of Mama-claws,_ there was a reason for it. Only two people in the wasteland went into Deathclaw territory - stupid people, or people who could match the lizards on equal or better footing.

"I'm curious about the Fitchburg project. How's that working out for you?"

Preston gave a pained smiled, looking at the floor and whistling. " _Bad_. But, we do have some leverage. Jesse here found out - _God only knows how_ \- that they hate the smell of lemon-anything. We had some men bust into car stores and take those hanging air-fresheners. We hung them up around the area, they work like a charm."

Piper blinked. "You're kidding?"

"Nope. I don't know why, but they won't go near them. One of our guys threw a box of them at a 'Claw; he said it stood there roaring at it for but wouldn't go past it and after him."

Huh. Piper scribbled in her notepad, thinking of another question. " _Hmmm_..." She chewed on her pen thoughtfully, judging what was the most relevant topic to focus on. "What was the deal with the Castle? Travis said some monster was a problem. So, what happened? Was it a behemoth? Deathclaw?"

"Nope. Mirelurk Queen. She came charging out from the ocean after we destroyed her loyal subjects."

"A queenie?" Piper exclaimed, leaning forward with wide eyes. "Whoa. How'd ya get her to surrender the throne?"

Preston pointed at Jesse. "This _crazy b*stard_ , by means I still don't understand, _somehow_ got in her pincers."

Piper raised an eyebrow. "How did that kill her?"

The Minutemen sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "She was so ticked at him, she ignored the rest of us. She just stood there trying to eat and melt him into mush, we just stood there shooting her."

The reporter glanced at the general. "So, how did he not die?"

"He shoved a shotgun in her mouth-thing and held down the trigger. We found that gun digging through her corpse - it was _half-liquid,_ and whatever didn't melt looked like an art sculpture. Jess walked away with more than a few broken bones and bruises, but he's still breathing, so I call that a win."

Piper snickered, jotting down the story. She looked up at the ceiling, tapping on her notepad with her pen. " _Oookaaaayy_...how about..." She rested her chin in her hand, blowing a puff of air up at her bangs. She snapped her fingers. "What are your plans moving forward? What do the Minutemen want to achieve, above all else?"

"A livable world where no one is afraid. A world where no one goes hungry, where kids get an education, where clean water and a warm roof are the norm and not luxuries. _That's_ what we want to achieve."

Piper nodded, writing down the powerful words. "That's going in the article. Moving stuff, Garvey." The reporter finished the last of her chicken-scratch notes, clicking her pen. "Now, what I really want to know about," She leaned forward, pointing at the man in the corner with her pen. "is _that_ guy. Who leads the Minutemen? An army stands with a leader, and I want to know what _he_ stands for."

"He isn't a synth if that's what you're asking."

Piper snorted, "Oh God, _no_ , I just-" She ran her hands through her hair, brushing it back, "It's everyone's best interest to understand the guy who controls most settlements and an ever-growing _army_ , y'know?"

"Yeah, I get it. I don't know Jesse that well, though. Even his Mister Handy doesn't know him much. He doesn't talk, and he only knows how to sign his name. It's charades and guesswork trying to communicate with him."

Jesse sat still, mask staring at the floor.

"That's fine by me. Just answer the best you can." Piper pondered the tinted plastic hiding Jesse's face, only an indistinct ghost of his eyes revealed in the dim light of her home. "So, first question: What's with the ' _mysterious'_ get-up?"

Preston glanced at the man next to him, wincing slightly. He coughed into his glove. "Um, well, Jesse is _kinda_...people got freaked out by his face. Hell, _I shot at him_ the first time we met."

Piper paused her writing, quirking an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"He has a lot of scars that just put people off. After the first few settlements wouldn't have anything to do with him, he decided it would be easier dealing with them if they didn't have to look at him, Shallow _as hell_ , but that's people for you."

She scoffed and crossed her legs. " _Everyone_ in the wasteland has scars. Ghouls are entirely scarred. Jesse can't look that bad."

"And he _doesn't_ , but when you add silence, intimidating posture, the fact that he's tall as hell, and twitching? That's when people freak out."

Piper nodded, clicking her tongue. She glanced at the tense man. "So, can _I_ see you?"

Jesse tensed, fiddling obsessively at a bullet on his bandolier. Preston patted him on the back.

"I'm not scared of a few scars. Living in Diamond City's taught me appearances don't matter."

Jesse looked up at Preston, who shrugged and leaned back against the wall. A rough, rumbling noise came from his throat, something Piper took as a sigh, and he went to work on unclasping straps on the gas mask. He pulled his hood down, smoothing back a mess of greying red hair.

The mask came off with a soft hiss of the suction being broken, and honestly? Piper could _understand_ why people might have been put off, but it looked more painful than petrifying.

Yeah, he was covered in scars and burns, but most people were. The tattoos on his face and going down his neck were odd - at the base of his neck was a red, spiky pattern that trailed down further. He didn't look at her, but she could see his eyes well enough. Really bright and grey, hooded, crowned by strong eyebrows.

What the heck was Preston on about? He looked normal.

"You look fine. People weren't _seriously_ _scared_ by a few _burn scars_ , right? I've seen worse looking people treated regularly. Your settlers are a bunch of chickens."

Jesse actually looked up at her, even made eye contact. She could see the bags and boney-ness of his face better, how sunken in his face was. His eyes were wide, his brow raised, head tilted like he was surprised.

Preston was the same, taken aback. "You are...the _first_ person to say that. Also for the first to not like... _gag_ or something. Most people jump."

Piper shrugged. "I don't know why. Ghouls exist, you'd think they'd desensitize people to stuff like that."

A glint on Jesse's wrist caught her eye. Hidden amongst armor and cloth was an Honest-to-God _Pip-boy._

"That." She pointed at the rare piece of tech with her pen. "Where in the world did you get _that?"_

Jesse followed her wide-eyed stare, raising his arm and gesturing to the device. 'This?' He replied silently.

"He got it from the vault he came out of-"

_**"YOU'RE FROM A F*CKING VAULT!?"** _

Both men jumped at the sudden shout. Jesse straightened, eyes darting from the animated reporter and the equally startled man next to him.

Piper had sprung to her feet, hovering over the apparent vault dweller. "You. Came. From a _vault_. Vault-Tec vault."

The general swallowed, nodding slowly.

Piper launched her notepad across the room.

Her head snapped back at the spooked vault dweller sitting on her cabinet.

"I've had a genuine vault dweller sitting in my house for the last ten minutes. _And neither of you told me?!"_

Jesse shrugged, putting one hand out in front of him and used the other to gesture at his mouth and Preston. 'Don't look at me, I can't speak.' The Minuteman looked back at him, affronted.

Piper took a deep breath and left the room to retrieve her notepad. "Okay, I absolutely need to know everything you can tell me."

"Short or long answer?"

Piper perched atop the coffee table. "Just tell me what's important."

"Jesse was frozen in cryo pods before the war, along with his son and the kid's mom. He only got out recently. Someone broke into the vault, stole his son right out of Mom's arms. He's been looking for him."

Piper dropped her pen.

Okay, few things:

1- Jesse had a _child_. That was...surprising. Definitely didn't seem the type.

2- Jesse _had_ a child.

3- Jesse was frozen while he was in there.

4- _That meant Jesse was Pre-war_.

"You-you lost your baby?" She stammered breathily, every word buzzing violently in her head, each one demanding she focus on it.

Jesse only stared at the floor, closing his eyes tiredly.

"Yeah. Shaun was about a year old, looked just like his dad from what the Mister Handy told me. Jesse took up the job of general to look for him. A man with an army has a better chance of finding his kid than anyone else. And if he can't, he's probably going to burn the 'Wealth to the ground looking for revenge on whoever took the kid."

Piper leaned over, taking Jesse's hand and squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry. Do you have any ideas who might have taken him?" Jesse shook his head. "Have you tried Nick Valentine?"

"We just came back from there - the detective's missing, we stopped by on the way out."

Piper looked at the Minuteman in shock. "Wait, Nicky's missing?"

"Yeah, I guess he went off on a case and didn't come back. Again, we were heading out to go find him."

The reporter paused.

"You need another gun with you?"

"Excuse me?"

Piper stood up, putting her hands on her hips. " _You_ ," She pointed at Jesse, "look like a _gold-mine_ of headlines...and _exactly_ my kind of trouble. I have a lot more questions than I can ask in one interview. Vault dweller, general of an army, a father looking for his son, Pre-war - you're every reporter's wet dream. Besides, I need to get away from Diamond City for a bit, let the heat die down. So, if you'll have me..." Piper motioned at herself with her thumbs. "...I'm your gal."


End file.
